


As Keen As Mustard

by Ladderofyears



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Brave Draco Malfoy, Building a family, Cuddling & Snuggling, Established Relationship, Family Feels, Family Fluff, HP Suds Fest 2020, Kind Harry Potter, M/M, Married Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Mpreg, Mpreg Draco, Muggle Technology, Original Crup Character, POV Draco Malfoy, Pregnant Draco Malfoy, Reminiscing, Supportive Harry Potter, Water birth, best laid plans, contractions, family life, mention of Spiderman, mild sibling rivalry, waters breaking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:01:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27164924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladderofyears/pseuds/Ladderofyears
Summary: Harry and Draco are the proud parents of two lovely boys and they have build a life together that Draco adores. This fic takes place on the day that their third baby is born; a baby that arrives far faster than Draco could ever have expected.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 13
Kudos: 380
Collections: HP Suds Fest 2020





	As Keen As Mustard

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PollyWeasley](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PollyWeasley/gifts).



> PollyWeasley, I adore you with every fibre of my being. You brought my confidence back when I'd lost it. Love you.

Draco opened a half an eye, wondering how it was possible that Saturday morning had arrived already. It was scarcely fair. It seemed like only half a minute had passed since he’d gone to bed. Sadly the stream of sunlight peeking in through the blinds was a truth that couldn’t be denied. 

Not to be defeated, the wizard gathered up a roll of quilt and tucked it beneath his chin with a defiant huff. Perhaps, if he pretended with all of his might, then he could ward off getting up for a couple more minutes? 

Draco thought it was certainly worth a try. 

Unfortunately, Draco’s plan had a gigantic, dishevelled-haired Chosen One-sized hole in it. After only two minutes of pretence Draco yawned, blinked open his eyes and turned his head. He could sense he was being watched and there’d only ever been one man in his life that hadn’t ever stopped looking at him. 

Harry, his husband of eight years, was staring at him across their pillows, his green eyes bright without his wire-framed glasses. Harry was staring at Draco as though he were the most glorious wizard in the whole of England. After all their years together – and their two boys, Scorpius and Osiris – it really was the most wonderful compliment to wake up to. 

“I can always tell when you’re really sleeping,” Harry chided, as soon as their eyes met. “You always have the tiniest smile, just at the corner of your lips, like you’re really enjoying your dreams.”

Draco smiled into his pillow. Even now, he was still surprised by the reams of information that Harry knew about him and only revealed when he wanted to. 

“And I might well have still been enjoying them,” Draco chided back, though his voice carried no heat, “had a certain wizard – tall, gorgeous, Head Auror, total _git?_ You might know him? – not have broken the Nox on our bedroom.”

Harry grinned at that description. 

“And I’m sorry,” he said, leaning over to brush a lock of Draco’s hair behind his ear, “and I know the Magi-Midwife said I was _supposed_ to to be letting you rest but I couldn’t wait any longer.” He leant over, the mattress dipping as he pressed a small but very loving kiss onto Draco’s mouth. “I was too excited to stay in bed. Our baby is due this weekend!”

“They certainly are,” Draco replied, laying back on the mattress as Harry’s large wand-callused hand snaked under the quilt and then beneath Draco’s silk pyjama top. 

It settled, tender and gentle, on the apex of his large bump and Draco shivered, the warmth of Harry’s familiar magic coiling and fluttering against his skin. Draco wasn’t the only person who felt Harry’s magic either: the touch woke their babe from their sleep and they nudged against Harry’s hand. 

“And I’m beginning to think they are as keen to vacate as I am, Harry,” Draco continued. He moved his hand down to join Harry’s own and together they lay their fingers across the curve of his swollen belly. “I had a very familiar backache last night – low down, achy, a bit like a cramp? – and unless I'm very much mistaken, I think they’ll come today.”

Draco watched Harry’s reaction. His husband, by nature rarely surprised, was clearly startled by his words. He furrowed his brow before reaching over to seize his glasses from the bedside table. 

“Today?” Harry repeated, shoving them on before he frowned down at the broad curve of Draco’s bump. “But you’ve not had any-?”

“Contractions?” Draco cut in, feeling the gentle undulations and shifts of their baby beneath his fingers. Now that they hadn’t much room left to move their baby was kicking around a little less but they were still very active and busy, just like both of their boys had been. “No, none yet, and my waters haven’t broken either.” He let out a small sigh, wriggling his already uncomfortable pelvis. “But I promise that they’ll still come today. I can just tell.”

“Then why do you think it’ll happen today?” Harry asked, narrowing his eyes. 

“Not sure,” Draco answered truthfully. He wasn't sure why he felt so strongly as he did about the birth of the third Potter-Malfoy baby – he’d been absolutely abysmal at Divination at back at Hogwarts and really the only thing he’d ever seen in a crystal ball had been his own reflection – but Draco was sure. He really did have a feeling, a twisty nervous little realisation that today would be their special day. “Experience I suppose. It’s my third go at this birthing lark after all.”

Harry had brought up the idea of baby number three around a year before and, were he being really truthful, Draco hadn’t been all that sure at first. He’d finally lost the last of the stubborn baby weight that had pasted itself to his hips like a curse, Osiris was finally sleeping through the nights and was out of nappies. 

Harry though? His husband had been enthusiastic enough for the pair of them. Draco knew how much his husband adored his babies: their little family was the centre of Harry’s life. After a few late night conversations – and the promise of non-alcoholic champagne, chocolate and orgasms while they were trying – Draco had relented. 

In retrospect, the wizard supposed he hadn’t needed all that much convincing after all. Harry and he had attended the Wizard Paternity Clinic within days of making their big decision and Draco had begun taking their prescribed potions the very same night. The St Mungos Magi-Midwives had been more than satisfied with his progress and it had taken only a matter of months for his body to adjust and become fertile once again. 

Of course, Harry’s super-powered Saviour sperm had done the trick almost immediately. Draco had suddenly found that his usual coffee tasted like sludge, that Pansy’s perfume made him dash into the loos and that getting out of bed in the mornings had become a close to impossible task. Two blue lines on a Muggle test had only confirmed what Harry and he had already known to be true. 

Harry and he were going to be fathers for the third time. 

Officially, their little one’s due date was Sunday, but Draco didn’t have much faith in those. Neither of his other two had come when they were supposed to. Scorpius had arrived two weeks before his due date, whereas Osiris had come two days before his own. Even so, they were still useful. Having a due date had given Harry and he something to plan towards. His mum was on hand to Floo in and collect the boys at a single moment’s notice and their hospital bag had already been packed for weeks. Harry had cast a Reducio on it before hanging it on a peg by the fireplace. Draco had even packed a range of his favourite Muggle Coca Cola drinks to keep him going during labour. 

As far as Draco was concerned everything was entirely under control. Draco shuffled his body into Harry’s warm embrace and let himself be loved, held and cared for. With Harry beside him, Draco felt safe. He was happy, confident in his body’s abilities and more than ready to meet their new baby. Chuckling at Draco’s firm promise, Harry cuddled up close and soon there wasn’t even an inch of space between the pair of them. 

“Didn’t realise I’d married a Seer,” Harry answered with a smirk. He gave Draco’s bump a firm, affectionate rub. “Seems that I’ll be meeting you later, little one.”

“That’s all you’re going to say?” Draco teased, never letting an opportunity to vex Harry go unmarked. “I should have thought you’d have some comment about my having ‘mother’s intuition’, or at the very least a mention of dire Malfoy timekeeping.”

Harry peppered a couple of kisses onto the ticklish spot beneath Draco’s ear before he spoke. 

“Never expect a Malfoy until the party is already in full swing,” Harry quoted back to him, sounding surprisingly fond of Draco’s old saying. “But you’re forgetting something important, my love. This little one here is half- _Potter_ so I’m sure they’ll come on time, exactly as expected, keen as mustard.”

Draco snorted, amused. He didn’t doubt that Harry was right. 

“Oh, of that I’ve not a single doubt,” Draco answered, making a small sigh. He fidgeted, his back already throbbing though the day had barely begun. “I’m sure that our babe will be another strapping Gryffindor for me to contend with – all wild hair, fierce loyalty and honest to a fault – Potter, through and through. That’s what the Muggles say isn’t it? Third time’s the charm?”

“ _Mm_. That they do,” Harry agreed, his words a little lost for he was nuzzling into the warm spot at the crook of Draco’ neck. “But I don’t care who or what they’re like Draco,” he said. “They’re a part of both of us, and whomever they are we’ll love them for who they are. I can’t wait to meet them. It’s thrilling, these last few days and hours. A new small life about to enter our world.”

Draco smiled to himself, well used by now to Harry’s reverent praise. 

Normally he’d have something to say about just how _thrilling_ third-trimester pregnancy really was. He cried at the drop of a hat; his belly was the size of Wiltshire and there wasn’t a single part of his body that didn’t thrum with pain. Draco didn’t think that his body hadn’t been this soft and pliable since before puberty and – worst of all! – the baby had wedged their little rump right beneath his lungs. Draco felt permanently out of breath and had been sporting the most ludicrously red cheeks for the past three weeks or so.

Logically, Draco knew that he ought to be suffering; ought to feel miserable at the changes to his mood and body, but he wasn’t. 

Their baby was coming – today, if his suspicion was correct – and his excitement about meeting them, counting their chubby toes that had been bumping his bladder for the last few months and finding out whether they’d inherited his nose was pushing his every pessimistic feeling to the side.

Draco took Harry’s hand. 

“A new small life for us both to love,” Draco replied, meaning every word. 

~~~

Draco turned out to be right, of course. 

The four Potter-Malfoys were sat in the kitchen of their Mayfair townhouse, enjoying breakfast and a long running argument about the new Beater for the Holyhead Harpies when he felt the first contraction. 

It wasn’t much at all, barely a tickle, and had Draco not have been in this exact position twice before, he might very well have dismissed as nothing more than a random twinge. It wasn’t though – it began deep inside his pelvis, radiating outwards through his middle, and making him fidget in his chair. 

The pain vanished nearly as soon as it had begun and Draco then cast his eyes over the table. 

His sons were too busy tucking into their Owl Flakes and milky teas to have noticed anything was amiss. Harry was fussing with Horatio, their old crup, rubbing the creature’s ears and sliding it tiny pieces of bacon from his plate. Draco bit back a smile at that: his husband was as oblivious as ever. Draco took a sip of his orange juice, but the croissant that Harry had lovingly prepared suddenly looked very unappetising. That was another positive sign. Draco always lost his appetite at this point in the proceedings, only to find himself ravenously hungry once their baby finally arrived. 

The next two contractions arrived a few minutes after the rest of the Potter-Malfoys had finished eating. Scorpius – six, balmy about Quidditch, even balmier about broomsticks – was in the middle of a very convoluted tale concerning Hugo Granger-Weasley, a lost toy Snitch and their primary school teacher, the fragrant Mrs. Brown, when Draco felt the very same pain once again. 

It was neither stronger, nor longer than the first one, but Draco was still astonished, especially when his next contraction happened only a few moments later. This quick succession was far more than he was used to at this stage. With both boys his contractions had been erratic for hours before they settled into a steady pattern. 

Their family conversation had moved on by then – Harry was outlining vague plans to visit Shell Cottage during the summer holiday – but Draco couldn’t follow what his husband was saying. He was too busy feeling excited. Today was their big day and they’d be holding their new little baby before they knew it. Draco was about to speak, and announce the big news to his family when Osiris dropped his cup, spilling milk all over his pyjamas, toy hedgehog, and all across the tabletop. The next few minutes were a busy haze of Cleaning Charms, table wiping and getting sopping pyjamas into the washing machine and, by the time that their four year was dressed and dried, the moment had passed by. 

Instead, Draco decided to waited until their two boys had ran off into the Living Room to tell Harry. Draco hadn’t been very keen on getting a Muggle television when Harry and he had brought their home, but Harry had insisted, wanting to follow the football. Arthur Weasley had managed to get it working despite the magical wards wrapped around their house and, in the end, Draco had relented to its presence. 

Their two sons loved watching the cartoons on a Saturday morning, and were he being scrupulously truthful, Draco would have had to say that he did also. They certainly beat the dreaded Wireless shows and the Martin the Mad Muggle comic books that he’d thought were so marvellous as a youngster. 

Draco watched his sons run into the next room, shrieking and laughing, Horatio bounding along beside them as fast as his rickety old legs could manage. He really did feel a bit sorry for that daft, smelly old creature. The crup had been Harry’s pet, predating their love affair, and their home and their babies by several years. Draco dread to think about Horatio must think of his existence; he could barely get through a day without some burst of unruly child-enchantment turning him green or giving him gills. It really could be quite the perturbing sight sometimes. Draco smiled at the memory of Scorpius’s most recent wild explosion of magic, letting one hand rest on the jut of his bump. He watched Harry collect the plates and cups from the table. Each of them levitated, one at at time, and then gently dipped down into the sink. 

Out of habit, Draco stood – though it was a little bit of a struggle – and went over to stand beside his husband at the sink

“You didn’t eat your croissant,” Harry observed. “Everyday I make you one, and everyday you eat it, every single crumb.” Harry set the Housekeeping Spell on their sink and then he turned around to face Draco, wrapping his arms around the wizard’s swollen waist. “But today? You’ve lost your appetite.” Harry knitted his fingers through Draco’s own and brought the wizard’s hand up to his lips, pressing a small kiss onto his knuckles. “Is there something you might like to tell me?”

Draco nodded, absurdly pleased that Harry had noticed. He wasn’t normally the most observant of men. “Seems like you did marry a Seer,” Draco replied. “You were right about our little one being keen to arrive. I’ve had three contractions.” Draco grinned, feeling cheeky. “Not that any of you noticed! You were all too busy stuffing your faces and talking about the Harpies.”

Harry shook his head, choosing not to respond to Draco’s comment. His expression was a mix of concern and happiness. His hands, cupping Draco’s tummy went a little tense and his magic tingled in pinpricks on Draco’s skin. Harry loathed the sight of Draco in pain and he hated the uncertainly and time that childbirth took. His husband’s Saviour complex was a real, living psychological issue, and had Harry have been able to take away his every ache and pain then Draco knew that he would have done. Unfortunately some things in life had to be borne alone and labour was one of those. 

“Are you sure?” Harry asked, before he shook his head, chastising himself. “’Of course you’re sure. I’m being ridiculous.” He let out a long slow breath, stretching out the span of his palm over their baby. It was a tell that Draco was long familiar with. His beloved was centring himself and trying to will himself not to panic. “Do you want to go to St Mungos now?” Harry asked. “I can Floo over to the Manor and get your Mum? It shouldn’t take more than a minute-”

“There’s no need to do any of that,” Draco cut in, wanting to quell Harry’s spiral of anxiety before it began in earnest. “You surely must remember the drill from last time? If we arrive too early, then all that’ll happen will be the Magi-Midwife sending us straight back through the Floo. We’ll be told to go and labour at home.” Draco made a dismissive, negative face at that idea. “And by that point, our boys will be nearly feral with the upheaval and as a result the entire event will take twice as long and be _twice_ as exhausting for all concerned.”

Harry wasn’t all all convinced by Draco’s answer. His husband liked the certainty of the Healer’s green coats and liked their soft, confident voices. 

He squinted behind his glasses and Draco knew that he was trying his best to gauge whether he was downplaying the situation or whether he was really telling the truth. “Alright,” Harry said after a long moment had passed, “but you tell me the moment that _anything_ changes. Anything at all! I know you understand your body, but- well, I just love you, and I love our baby, and I couldn’t bear it if something went wrong.”

“Nothing will. It never has before,” Draco answered, stepping closer to Harry and hugging his arms around his beloved. If felt right, somehow, that their baby was between them, a warm, shifting presence as they waited patiently to be born. He pressed a kiss onto Harry’s cheek. “And nothing will go wrong today. We don’t need to rush. You know that babies take _hours_ and I’m just at the start. Three very soft, very weak contractions so far.” 

Draco wasn’t lying. He’d suffered through seventeen hours of labour with Scorpius, and for fifteen with Osiris and he couldn’t imagine that today was going to be very much shorter. The Magi-Midwife had said that their baby was a good size which Draco assumed would slow the process too. He yawned into the back of his hand. 

“I’m going to watch television with the boys. You can firecall the hospital,” Draco suggested, wanting to give Harry something practical to do, “and just give them the heads-up that we’ll be along later.” Draco paused, thinking for a moment. “Not Mother though! You’d only worry her and I don’t want to be fielding her bloody owls every hour.”

Harry looked far happier once he had been given a task. He pressed a kiss into Draco’s hair and then the two men were silent. Draco let Harry take his weight and they swayed together, enjoying the anticipation that the moment held. 

“And you need to rest,” Harry decided, looking at Draco with a gaze full of naked wonderment and admiration, “because you’re having our baby.”

Draco flashed Harry a smirk and tapped his bump affectionately. “Not for another couple of hours,” he said, winching as another contraction bit into him and made his knees shake. “I hope.” He waited out the contraction in Harry’s arms, counting through the pain of it in his head. This one was definitely stronger and he felt the muscles of his belly constrict and tighten, but it wasn’t atrocious. Draco wouldn’t have classed it more than an annoyance and, as he knew from experience, it wasn’t helpful to get too troubled over these early aches and pains. 

Draco unravelled himself from his husband's arms then. “Tell me what they say at the hospital,” he said, giving Harry a chaste peck on his lips. “I’m going to sit with the boys for a bit.”

~~~

Scorpius and Osiris were, as Draco had entirely expected, glued to the television. 

Harry and he tried to restrict it to the weekends but that had resulted in the Muggle box’s allure growing ever greater. The screen was filled with Marvel heroes, swinging from buildings and righting wrongs. Draco stood in the doorway, taking in the sight of his two boys rather than the gaudily animated show. 

Osiris sat in the chair, cuddling his toy hedgehog in his small arms while Scorpius lay sprawled on the floor – Horatio tucked close beside him – all long limbs and wild, knotty hair. Draco could scarcely believe how big they both were; how tall and how handsome. He’d long since realised that children were more magic than any Time-Turner: Draco could look at his sons and see the babies that they’d once been, as well as the young men that they’d soon become. The past six years had vanished more quickly than sand through a timer and Draco could only hope that the rest of their lives would be equally as joyful. 

“Can I join you both?” Draco asked, taking his time to pad into the room slowly even though he still felt pretty comfortable. The ache in his back wasn’t overwhelming yet, and he’d only had one more contraction since leaving Harry. 

Draco made his way to their horribly squashy settee – Harry’s choice; the wizard always went for comfort over any semblance of style – and sat down carefully, holding the bottom of his bump for a bit of additional support. He stretched over and popped the button on the recliner, a Muggle device of such utter laziness and indolence that he’d scoffed at when Harry had first demonstrated how to use it. Draco smiled and stretched out his legs. He supposed that he was starting to understand its utility. 

Neither boy replied but Draco hadn’t expected them too. They were far too engrossed with Spiderman’s quest to save New York. Even though his eyes barely left the screen, Osiris must have registered that he’d entered the room. He, and his precious hedgehog, crawled up onto the settee to join Draco and cuddle into his side. Only four, Osiris was a little young for his age and Draco knew that he struggled to keep up with his more-confident older brother. 

The little boy lay his head against Draco’s shoulder and placed his hedgehog on top of the bump, with an instruction to “look after baby.” 

“Hello cherub,” Draco said, brushing a kiss on the top of his son’s curly head. “Has Spiderman saved the day yet?” He frowned at the television. It really was a pity that Peter Parker wasn’t of magical dissent. There were a few defensive spells that would have easily gotten him out of his current sticky situation. “Is your programme good today?”

Osiris nodded. He loved superheroes and began to recount the events of the episode. Draco nodded along, enjoying his little boy’s warm presence by his side. Scorpius occasionally chipped in – he had a hundred opinions and wasn’t afraid to share any of them – but, truth be told, Draco wasn’t really following what was being said by either little wizards. His mind had wandered to the new baby and how they might alter the safe, easy life that the four of them currently enjoyed. 

Neither Harry and he had been blessed with siblings. Draco had no doubt that Harry would have been blessed with a plethora of brothers and sisters had his parents have lived – that was the time-honoured wizarding way – but Voldemort had left him an only child. He’d been an only child too, but that had been a particularity unique to Malfoy family tradition. They’d had a farcical, ridiculous belief, one that had stretched back generations, stating that siblings would weaken their precious bloodline and, no doubt, their even more precious fortune.

As a result, both Harry and he had been in agreement when Scorpius had been born. Their boy would have would have siblings to play with, learn to fly with and look after when they started at Hogwarts. In retrospect, Draco supposed that they’d rushed into having Osiris. Scorpius had been barely two when his brother had been born and the disruption had let to some upsetting scenes at first. It wasn’t their eldest boy’s fault: Harry and he had been the first of all their friends to start their family – Merlin, he hadn’t yet been twenty! – and their little boy had been the apple of everyone’s eye from the very day he’d been born. 

At first he’d been upset when the new baby had arrived. Scorpius hadn’t liked how much time and attention Osiris took, and how tired Osiris had made Harry and he both. 

There had been a few bad days – and a few tantrums and tears – but Scorpius had quickly gotten used to the fact of having a brother and, even better, had quickly grown to love him. Of course, it hadn’t all been plain flying: the two boys still fought, still teased each other and still competed for their parent’s attention. Ron Weasley had told a panicked Harry that, yes, brothers _did_ do all of that, and still go on to enjoy each other’s company. 

That had put some of the worries that Harry and he still held to rest. Neither Harry or he had known anything about having siblings and even less about being fathers, but between the pair of them, they’d muddled through. 

As the years had passed, all the concerns that had stemmed from their less than stellar childhoods had slowly vanished. Harry and he had created an existence – and a family – that both of them were proud of. Their lives were a mixture of everything that their own childhoods had lacked and were so much the better for it. 

Today though? Their precious existence would be thrown into disarray once more. 

Draco cuddled in close to Osiris’s little form, enjoying his proximity and his sweet soapy smell. There really wasn’t any love like that which he had for his children. Even now, after six years, it still left Draco feeling vulnerable and raw. His whole world was this house and the people that lived within its four walls. From the very first moment that Harry and he had told both their boys that they’d be getting a sibling – and shown them the blurry sonogram from St Mungos, their tiny heartbeat pulsing, over and over – both Scorpius and Osiris had both been pretty accepting about the situation. 

That wasn’t to say there hadn’t been a few squabbles. Osiris hadn’t wanted to give up his bedroom – it was their nursery, adjoined to Harry and his bedroom – but his tears had soon been averted. Harry had decorated his brand new bedroom with Muggle Avenger pictures, and then he’d decorated Scorpius’s room in the new Harpies colours, just so both boys could have bright new wallpaper. 

Draco bit back a smile; he really did have a Saviour for a husband. Draco really hoped that neither boy felt resentful or neglected once their baby arrived and that their family life would soon get back to some semblance of normal. 

It didn’t take more than a minute for Osiris's explanation to fade away and his green eyes drifted back to the television, enthralled as always by his heroes and their antics. Draco watched the screen too, but he was struggling to really follow the story of what he was watching. In the few minutes since he had sat down, his contractions had really begun to pick up, both in their strength and their regularity. He wriggled a bit, trying to find a spot on the settee that felt properly comfortable but it wasn’t easy at all. His belly felt heavy and hard and their baby was really pushing down against his pelvis.

With a flick of his wand, Draco cast a Tempus spell. It wasn’t long past nine and he doubted that he’d been sat with his sons more than twenty minutes – Spiderman hadn’t long finished – and three more contractions had tracked through his middle, their pressure pushing downwards with throbbing tightness. 

It wasn’t awful – not yet anyway – but Draco could feel the edges of his serenity begin to unravel. Draco even picked up Osiris's poor misused hedgehog during his next contraction and gave it a bit of a squeeze, letting out a small groan as he did so. 

Osiris noticed immediately. His little face looked away from the television and down to Draco’s bump and the hand that was holding his hedgehog with white knuckled fingers. “Is the baby kicking you?” he asked, his green eyes clouding over with worry. He was just like Harry, Draco thought distractedly; he hated to see other people in pain. “Baby is _naughty_ ,” Osiris decided, looking for all the world as serious and as concerned as his other daddy always did.

Draco took a long, steadying breath before he spoke. “Baby isn’t naughty,” he explained, taking his son’s hand and placing the palm of it over his bump, “But there isn’t much room left in there now, so they’ve decided that it’s nearly time to come out and live with us.” He gave Osiris a weak smile. “Baby is just getting me prepared to meet them, that’s all.”

His answer satisfied Osiris, but his words had attracted the attention of Scorpius too. His bigger boy was looking at him beneath anxious, furrowed brows. He was a clever little pixie – wise beyond his years – and Draco had no doubt that he understood more than he let on. Draco took another deep lungful of air and then he swung his legs off the side of the recliner. 

“But there’s nothing for you two to worry about,” he continued, leaning over to kiss Osiris's head as he stood up. He handed the hedgehog back to his little son. Across the room, Scorpius looked at him with wide, pale green eyes. “And _I_ need to find your other daddy,” Draco continued. “So you two stay here and watch your television. Promise to be good boys for me?” 

It was time for him to take his leave. The last thing Draco wanted was to scare his little ones. His contractions were getting more intense with every moment that passed and he didn’t want them to witness him in pain. Draco wanted them to welcome the new baby with open arms. 

“I’ll look after Osiris,” Scorpius declared, getting down off the single chair and moving to Draco’s recently vacated spot. Horatio followed, bounding onto the settee to take pride of place on both of their knees. The furore of it was enough to take both boy’s attention anyway from the new baby. 

Draco watched them fondly as they lavished love and cuddles upon their daft old crup. He’d hoped that they’d stay put for a while, giving Harry and he the chance to Floo over to St Mungos when his Mum arrived to look after them. 

Their attention was soon taken once more by the television – Spongebob, this time – and they quietened, any fright they’d had now completely forgotten. 

~~~

Draco barely made it back to the Kitchen before the next contraction rolled through him, a hot aching clench that vibrated through his pelvis and made him gasp. He got through it clasping the back of a chair, leaning forward and making deep, shuddery gasps.

When the pain finally vanished, Draco gingerly stood upright and massaged the small of his back with his hand. His contractions were, most assuredly, starting to move to the stronger side. He could barely believe that it’d only been an hour or so since that first, weak spasm during his breakfast. 

Merlin, but it had taken hours upon hours of waiting to get to this point with Scorpius and Osiris! This wasn’t going to be anything like ten hours plus. What was that Muggle saying that Harry had said that morning? _Keen as mustard_. That was it. Their baby was as keen as mustard to meet them. 

Still, now wasn’t the time to start panicking. Draco took a deep breath and centred himself, filling his brain with the warm, fuzzy memories that he knew would get him through the next hours. Draco told himself that he’d done this before – that his body was strong and able – and that Harry and he had made two beautiful, happy children already. 

They’d rushed into having children, Harry and he. Half-wild with infatuation and adoration, Harry and he had thrown themselves into their love affair with every part of their souls. 

The idea of having a child – of having _Harry’s_ child – had raced through Draco’s veins like Fiendfyre. He’d wanted it more than anything else in his life. He’d been less than a year out of Hogwarts when he’d first taken fertility potions – little more than a child himself! – but there hadn’t been a moment of hesitation on either his or Harry’s part. 

Both of them had been infused with a sense of such urgency, of such _necessity_. They’d wasted so much time hating each other and lost so many people they cared for. Mother had been appalled by their rash, reckless choices; aghast at their hasty bonding ceremony and dismayed at the busy, cluttered Muggle home that Harry and he had brought for their baby to grow up within. 

Harry and he had both been determined that their baby wouldn’t ever know a day that they weren't the most loved child in the world. They’d all come around eventually – his mum, Pansy, even Harry’s friends – and Scorpius had been doted on from the very day he was born. Narcissa – for all her loud protestations to the contrary – had been the most wonderful grandmother that either Harry or he could even have asked for. 

Their two boys had become the two stars at the centre of her universe. 

His next contraction hit then, pulling Draco away from his chain of thought with a gasp. Sodding Potter was nowhere to be seen as the spasm rolled and coiled though his body, making him grit his teeth and close his eyes tight against the burning ache. He knew what to do; knew to ride the wave of the pain, knew to try to remember to breathe but it bit into him, making him sweaty and frightened. 

Draco was so lost in the pain of it that he failed to realise that his husband had entered the kitchen. The first he noticed was when Harry gave his shoulders a squeeze. Just his touch – and the lovely warm magic that diffused through it, into his skin – was enough to bring Draco through the contraction and back into the world. 

As soon as it ended, and Draco opened his eyes, he was face to face with a very concerned, and vexed looking Harry. 

“That was unpleasant,” Draco said, giving Harry a weak smile. “Glad you could join me for the end of it.” 

Draco’s feeble joke didn’t change Harry’s expression an iota. “I’m sorry I vanished,” he said quietly, his green eyes taking in every inch of Draco’s crumpled clothes and sweaty brow. “I was just about to come through to you and the boys when Robards sent his Patronus. There was a problem at work – some nonsense about missing witness statements in that dragon smuggling case – and they wanted me to come in. I told them to sod off,” He sighed then, a ripple of annoyance crossing his features. “What’s happening, Draco? Just a bloody _hour_ ago you told me that babies take ages! How far apart are your contractions?”

Draco shook his head. He’d hadn’t been timing them. He supposed a small part of him didn’t want to confess to himself that their baby was coming quicker than he had planned for. 

“I don’t know,” he admitted, meeting Harry’s worried gaze. “Four, maybe five minutes? Something like that? But they’re definitely getting stronger.”

Harry looked cross at his answer and he pursed his lips in much the same way that he did Hermione or Robards came at him with some problematic Ministry issue. “Then we’re going to St Mungos, Draco,” he said, tone brooking no argument. “The Magi-Midwife that I spoke to said that it might be a little quicker this time. Your body remembers how to labour.” He sighed, but then he smiled, learning over to brush a small kiss on Draco’s forehead. “We’re going to have a baby, love. Sooner than we expected. I only wish that you’d let me Floo you to hospital an hour ago.”

Draco winced, the weight of their baby pressing hard against his pelvis. 

“Since when did I make anything in your life easy?” he asked, trying for a light hearted tone thought the end of his sentence came out a little strained. “Will you get Mother first? Send her a Patronus? The boys are still happy in front of the television but I don’t know how long that’ll last and I don’t want to scare them.”

Harry nodded. Some of the worry had cleared from his face now that they had a clear plan of action in place. 

“I’ll Apparate over the Manor,” he said, Accio’ing his trainers and catching them with a practised hand. He toed them on before placing his hands on Draco’s tummy. “Will you be okay here while I get that done? The sooner that I get Narcissa the sooner we can leave.”

Draco pressed his hands on top of Harry’s own. The pressure was immense and it was beginning to make him feel a little dizzy. His limbs felt sore, and heavy, and a very familiar exhaustion was beginning to creep through his body. That was his innate magic, working hard to bring their little one into the world, but it was taking all of his energy.

“Will you help me into the bath?” Draco asked suddenly, the words surprising him even as they left his mouth. He’d spend much of his labour with Osiris in the water and it’d been really soothing and calming, the buoyancy of the water supporting his weight. “I’m really hot, and achy, and -”

His husband hesitated for a moment. “Alright,” Harry conceded, “but not for long, love. You’re getting out as soon as I’ve gotten Narcissa.”

Draco didn’t have the energy to object. He hoped desperately that the immersion in water would slow down his labour a little because right now, the idea of leaving his home – and being sucked and thrown through the Floo system – was filling him with a nauseating dread. His whole body was telling him to stay here, with his boys in their lovely Mayfair home and give birth to their baby.

Another contraction ricocheted through Draco then, taking his breath and half of his wits. Harry wrapped his arms around his shoulders, holding him tight, and Draco buried his head in the comforting crook of his husband's neck. 

“Just breathe,” Harry murmured. “Breathe through it… Count to ten. _One, two_ -”

“ _Three, four_ ,” Draco continued as the contraction peaked and he tipped over the edge of the pain. “Merlin’s bloody eyes. Did it hurt this much last time?”

“It did,” Harry said, sliding a lock of Draco’s hair behind his ear, “but just like last time it’s all worth it. Our little one is coming, and every single contraction brings us closer to meeting them, love. Come on. I’ll help you up the stairs.” 

Draco let himself be guided and the two of them took it slowly. Every step sent pains shooting up Draco’s back and across his hips but Harry never rushed him. He kept one hand on Draco’s waist and the other knitted inside Draco’s own. 

It seemed to take forever but Harry never once left Draco’s side. 

~~~

As supportive as ever, Harry not only helped him up the stairs and into the but ran the bath for him while Draco sat on the loo, panting and wheezing through another set of powerful contractions. 

His whole body had gotten a little trembly by then and their baby was pressing down hard. Harry helped him to strip off his sweaty clothes once the tub was filled halfway to the brim and then he insisted on helping him get into the charmed warmth of the water too. 

“Careful now,” Harry said, helping Draco into a seated position in the sweetly scented bathtub. “I don’t want you to slip over.” Draco could tell that Harry was anxious. He was fiddling with his wedding ring and being overly affectionate – even more so than normal – planted a soft kiss atop of Draco’s head and letting his fingers trail over his skin. He rubbed the small of Draco’s back, knowing that he’d appreciated that during his previous two labours. 

Trying to calm Harry a bit, Draco gave his beloved a smile, wanting to express that he needn't worry.

“Will you check on the children?” Draco asked after a few minutes. It had been a while and he hadn’t heard a peep out of them. His sons were both good boys but Scorpius’s unbroken magic sometimes got the better of him. He didn’t want his Mother to arrive to an indoor typhoon or room where the gravity had been switched to the ceiling. “They’ve been awfully quite for an awfully long time.”

Harry gave Draco another kiss before he stood. “I’ll contact your Mother too,” he said as he stood up. “I love you Draco, and I shouldn’t be more than a few minutes. Try to relax until I get back?”

Draco quirked Harry a grin and he dropped his body lower into the heated water. “I’ll try not to get into any trouble,” he answered, with only a hint of irony in his voice. Harry didn’t seem to want to leave him; Draco watched him vacillate at the doorway, a mixture of love and anxiety colouring his features. “Go _on_ ,” Draco chided after a moment. “I’ll be fine. The sooner you go, then sooner you come back.”

Harry left then and it seemed to Draco that the very moment that his beloved shut the door another contraction begin. There was no doubt about it: this really was the harshest, most unpleasant one that he’d yet to endure. Draco held the hard curve of his belly as he fidgeted through the endless seconds. The warm pressure of the bathwater surrounded his sore legs and hips as he let out a low, panting moan. Every single second seemed to stretch out for an age. 

When his contraction did finally end, Draco lay back, dipped his head into the water and took a deep breath. 

“Circe,” Draco muttered, talking to his baby. He was surprised at how strong his voice still sounded. It was much stronger than he felt. “You’re a keen little Niffler, aren't you my darling? I know that you want to meet your other daddy and your two lovely brothers – put some faces to the voices and all – but you need to slow down a little bit baby! I know you’re impatient but-” Draco groaned, the start of his next contraction beginning as he spoke, “ _please_ could you wait? Just a little bit longer?”

The answer to Draco’s question was a resounding no. 

Their baby really was the keen as mustard little Gryffindor that he’d described only hours before and they really, truly wanted to make their presence known. Almost without warning he felt his waters go with a painless twinge and then a horribly familiar gush. Draco’s amniotic fluid mixed in with the bathwater and, immediately, he felt the lessening of the constricting, binding pressure that had plagued him almost since the moment he had woken. 

Draco groaned at the sheer impudence of his baby. Getting in the bath hadn’t slowed his labour down in the slightest and, as the minutes ticked forward, his labour only picked up the pace. 

Merlin, but what was taking Harry so _long?_ Draco side-eyed the door, wondering what could have waylaid his husband and kept him away from his side, while all the time gripping the side of the bathtub and clinging on for dear life. 

His contractions were getting stronger and longer with every second and now there was barely a moment’s grace between them. Time seemed to slow. Draco felt the pressure begin to build – felt the gritty tensing, felt the primeval urgency of his body getting ready to expel the baby – and knew also that he couldn’t hold back the tide. 

Draco was getting ready to push and there wasn’t a deuced thing that he could do about it. 

The wizard gulped, his mouth as dry as parchment. There were unwanted, inexcusable tears welling in the corner of his eye and a million thoughts spiralling thought his mind. _It wasn’t supposed to be like this_ – he wasn’t _supposed_ to be alone in the bathtub, without his Harry, without his Magi-Midwife and his stupid Muggle Coca Cola and the painkilling potions that he knew he _wouldn’t_ have taken but would have _dearly_ liked to have been give the choice about! – he was supposed to have been more prepared. 

He was supposed to have had more time. 

There was nothing to be done though. Draco’s baby was coming and he didn’t have any choice in the matter. He gathered all the rough edges of his nerves together and laboured through the next two contractions, panting and gripping the smooth sliding edges of the bathtub. 

He might have been calling out for Harry; he wasn’t sure. The whole rest of the world – his sons, his home and the life they had made – felt all of a sudden like a distant dream. All that Draco could focus on was his own body and the powerful forces that were urging him with every breath to expel their baby. 

And then, just as he’d expected, came the overwhelming, irresistible urge to push.

Harry had been right: his body remembered exactly how to do this. He gasped into the sensation, visualising his body opening wide and readying itself. He leant himself back into the heated cocoon of bathwater, willing his strength to last just as long as he needed it to.

“You can do this,” Draco murmured to himself, psyching himself up for whatever came next. “You _can_. You’ve a powerful bloody wizard and you’ve done this twice before.”

And Draco could. He really could. His body was strong, and it was able, and it was telling him everything he needed to know. He listened to it, and he pushed, keeping his breathing shallow and short as he coasted over the peak of the contraction. Draco could feel their baby. He could feel their journey as they moved slowly downwards, inch by tiny inch. He _could_ do this. 

Their lovely baby, keen as mustard, getting ready to meet Harry and he. 

And then, as if summoned by his thoughts, Harry pushed open the bathroom door. 

Bustling and occupied, the wizard’s tense body-language and heavy steps pulled Draco away from his almost-tranquil state. “Everything’s sorted,” Harry said, his voice loud in the placid still of their bathroom. “Your Mother is downstairs with the boys. She was shopping on Diagon and so it took her a few minutes to get to a Floo,” he continued, his tone clipped with worry. 

Draco turned his head, looking at his husband out of the corner of his eye. Harry was so busily gathering a big fluffy towel from the rack that he hadn't looked once in his direction. “And I’ve called the hospital too. Merlin, but they were surprised to hear from us again so quickly! Okay,” Harry said, stepping across the room. “Time to get out of the water. Let me-”

Draco couldn’t bear to listen to any more words. “No!” he cried, wishing for nothing more than for Harry to cease speaking. “ _No_ … I’m- _I’m not_.” He shook his head. “I’m not-”

Draco let his eyes shutter closed as another contraction rolled over him. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t communicate to Harry how he absolutely wasn’t going anywhere. He bore down, gripping the side of the tub with knuckles that felt stinging and sore. Draco was going to give birth there, in their very own bathtub. It was going to happen in a matter of minutes and there wasn’t a thing that either wizard could do about it. 

And, to Harry’s eternal credit, he accepted Draco’s answer. 

Harry didn’t try to seize control, or force him to move – not that Draco really imagined he’d get very far – and, best of all, he didn’t start asking a dozen unhelpful questions. All Harry did was sit on the side of their bathtub. He rubbed Draco’s back and shoulders with a flannel, each swipe of it slow, considerate and loving. 

Every touch left a trail of Harry’s powerful magic. 

“You’re really close, aren't you?” Harry said gently, his every caress a comfort. He leant forward and pressed a kiss onto the top of Draco’s head. “Talk to me love,” Harry requested. “ _Please_. Tell me what you need and what you want from me.”

Draco let out a low groan. “My waters went… almost straight after you left,” he said, pushing himself up a bit and trying to get a little more comfortable, “and I had to _push_ … had to push straight away. The contractions… ah, they’re nearly on top of each other, Harry. Bloody hell,” he winced, feeling another began to gather and the wave of pain ripping away his ability to speak. 

“What can I do?” Harry repeated after the moment had passed. “I could get your Mum, or firecall the-”

“No!” Draco cut in. “Nothing… just-just please don’t leave me.” 

Tears stung at the very idea of Harry leaving his side. He needed Harry beside him; needed their little one’s other father to be there when came into the world. Harry, who’d always loved and believed in him, even when the rest of the world had given up. Harry, whose enduring love had saved him. Harry was the love of his whole life and, together the two of them had built a world that Draco could only have dreamt of otherwise. “No,” Draco repeated, “just… _please_. Stay.”

He might have said more, but then another contraction hit, and he felt their baby move downwards and stretch him. The crowning sensation was so familiar, and so excruciating, and Draco knew their baby was so close to being born. Reaching down between his legs he felt the top of their babe’s head peeking out, so near to being in his arms. 

“They’re so close,” Draco murmured, his voice weak and distant in his ears. “They’re almost-”

“Don’t talk,” Harry said, his words a comfort and a balm. “Please don’t talk. It’s okay, Draco, I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.” 

Draco couldn’t react though. He couldn’t. He had no energy left; his arms and legs were as heavy as lead and his body felt like it was going to shatter into a million pieces. 

All that he was aware of was Harry’s fingers, digging into the small of his back – trying to easy the knotty pressure – and the cloying heat of the bathwater and their baby, so close now to their birth and the beginning of their very own life story. 

He gritted his teeth against his exhaustion and the pain, as another contraction seized him. Their baby was so close to emerging and so Draco took his time. He didn’t want to tear so he panted, pushing as slowly as he dared while their little one stretched him to an almost impossible degree. Two or three contractions passed like this – it could have been more, but Draco had lost count – and all that he could comprehend was the _pain_ of it as his contractions all melted into one mass of red, harrowing agony. 

And then it happened. Then it happened and it was like a bubble bursting, like the first kick of a broomstick as it left the earth. Draco tipped over the edge and he felt their baby rush forward, felt the widest part of their head leave his body. Their shoulders and the rest of their body followed in a single slick slide of limbs and then Draco’s hard work was done. 

The relief was bright, vivid and immediate. Draco acted on pure instinct. He snatched the baby up out of the water and pulled them up to his chest. They had a _daughter_ – a purple skinned, vernix-sticky and very discontented little daughter – who was making snuffly little noises at her abrupt expulsion into the world. She was quite the most beautiful thing that Draco thought he’d ever seen. She was so little, with fingernails the size of seed pearls. It felt hard to believe that his sons had ever been quite this tiny. “Hello baby,” Draco found himself saying, his face wet with shocked, happy tears. He was crying and laughing, all at the same time. “Hello little baby. Please don’t cry. You’re already so loved. So very loved.” 

Harry’s hand steadied his own – for he was shaking – and helped Draco to get their little Elara into a safer position. Draco ran a fingertip down the soft skin of her arms and watched, awestruck as she curled her hand around his finger, holding tight. 

Harry cut their little one's cord with a cautious Diffindo and together, they cleaned their baby as best they could. Elara’s small mewing cries lessened as she was was swaddled in one of their clean towels. Harry sent a Patronus to St Mungos, explaining that their Magi-Midwife might need to Floo over to _them_ , rather than vice versa and then there was time for Draco to have a cuddle with his daughter once more. She was snug on Draco’s chest when Harry lent over, giving the pair of them a kiss. 

“Thank you,” Harry said, his eyes red-rimmed with emotion. He didn’t wipe them away and Draco could feel the waves of love radiating from his husband. “Thank you for giving me a beautiful daughter – a beautiful _family_ – I don’t know what I ever did in my life to deserve you all, but I love each of you with my whole soul.”

“I should be thanking you,” Draco replied, feeling the heat of Harry’s mouth as he kissed his cheek once more. “We certainly make lovely babies together, Potter.” He made a teary-eyed chuckle. “But this one here gets the Gallon for the best entrance. Merlin’s eyes. She’s a bigger attention hog than you are, Harry. 

The two of them held Elara Narcissa quietly for the next few minutes, trying to commit her every detail to their memories so that they both might view her in their Pensieve for the rest of their lives. She was a good mix of the pair of them, with a colourless wisp of blond hair, Harry’s nose and irises that might turn out to be either green or grey as she grew older. She looked back at the pair of them, her big baby eyes filled with wonder and Draco felt a rare joy. The five of them were going to have such fun together. 

Draco was just about to say something else – remark, perhaps on just how accurate his prediction had been or comment on how, _finally_ , they had a member of their family who resembled him in the _slightest_ – when he heard the sound of their Floo chiming through the house. It was their Healer and Magi-Midwife, come straight from St Mungos in a hasty burst of magic. 

Draco heard the shocked astonishment in his Mother’s aristocratic voice as they tumbled into the Lounge. Horatio barked wildly at the sudden noise, which caused their sons to shriek in excitement at the whole hullabaloo. Real life had come calling. 

Draco was the first to smile at the ridiculousness of the situation that Harry and he had found themselves in. He passed Elara to Harry with a sigh and sat up out of his bathwater with a wince. 

“You’ll have to help me out of the bathtub and magic me dry,” Draco said, looking over at his husband and new baby with a small, wobbly laugh. “And then? I think you and I – and a certain baby daughter of ours – have a little bit of explaining to do.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading xxxxx


End file.
